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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26956690">Sketches</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theneverendinghunger/pseuds/Theneverendinghunger'>Theneverendinghunger</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Time I Saw Richard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Choking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fellatio, Mutual Masturbation, Pornography, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26956690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theneverendinghunger/pseuds/Theneverendinghunger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader finds that she is Richard's pornographic muse within the pages of his sketchbook.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Richard (The Last Time I Saw Richard) x reader, Richard (The Last Time I Saw Richard) x you, Richard (The Last Time I Saw Richard)/reader, Richard (the Last Time I Saw Richard)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sketches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your fingers danced over the book spines, scanning the titles for something new to add to your arsenal.  You were grateful that the psychiatric facility had an extensive collection of books, with quite a few of them being rare classics you’d never had access to.  Reading was your one escape from the present, a chance to completely immerse yourself into someone else’s story, instead of acknowledging the current shortcomings of your own.</p><p>You should have been packing your bags to leave for another year of college like your friends, continuing the newest chapter of your life.  You had packed your bags a week ago, but your destination was for your psychological enrichment, not an intellectual one.  </p><p>Since you admission into the facility a week ago, you’d created a routine that made it difficult to acknowledge the ongoing stares at your person.  You would sit next to the large windows and bury yourself within pages and pages of text, only breaking your attention for the nurses or doctors that summoned you to speak to them.  You were the new patient, and most wanted to know what you did to earn a bed within the four corners of the hospital.</p><p>Today was no different, your skin itched as dozens of eyes swept over you as you made your selection: The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton.  You smirked to yourself as you settled into the plush armchair by the window that you claimed your first day, the irony not lost on you having chosen a book about a woman who fell from privilege to the fringes of society, the heavy rain against the window adding to the overall gloom that was your life.  </p><p>You lost track of time as you immersed yourself into the book, the heavy midday rain now replaced by that of the afternoon sun.  You quickly panned around the room, relieved that most of the patients were occupied with mindless television.  A couple of girls were playing board games diagonal to your armchair, one flipping the board out of rage, the game pieces flying into the surrounding area.</p><p>You noticed the mixture of loud scrapings of pencil against paper and muffled rock music, a noise you’ve grown accustomed to when you sat in the living area.  The scribblings were a sort of comfort, someone else losing themselves to art, and when you caught Richard staring at you the first time, you reddened wildly as you stuck your nose back into your book, your periphery telling you that he was continuing to take several unchecked glances of you.  </p><p>His fingers glided over the paper as he shaded whatever he was drawing, his right hand scribbling rapidly before his fingers diffused the shade.  He looked to you with a type of intense focus you’d never witnessed to this point before redirecting his gaze, his cheeks red, his pupils dilated, and when you closed your book, mesmerized by the intense stares in your direction, you realized he was drawing you.  </p><p>His gaze followed you as you stood from your armchair, leaving Edith Wharton behind as you walked toward his table.  You took a risk and sat across from him, your hand supporting your chin as you continued watching him work, giving him access to see you up close.  His eyes bounced between the plains of your face and his work, his brows furrowed, biting his lip in concentration, flicking his brown hair out of his line of vision.  His eyes dropped away from your face toward your breasts, and you chuckled as he shifted in his seat, having been caught.  </p><p>Curiosity drove you to abandon all etiquette, and you found yourself walking to his side of the table before reason told you that his sketchbook was likely private, for his eyes only.  To your surprise, he did not recoil or close the book, only looking away from you as a fire grew up his neck, face, and ears, inflamed with mortification.  </p><p>You were laying on a bed with a hand clasped against your throat.  Your face was one of raw, absolute pleasure, and you wondered if you actually looked that beautiful in the throes of orgasm.  You followed the drawn hand and arm to the person they belonged to, that being the artist himself.  Your fingers turned the pages backward, finding more pictures of you as the centerpiece, being fucked from behind, your hair in tight, familiar fists, a cock jammed down your throat as your eyes watered down your face, and the other person was always him.  </p><p>You mouth fell ajar, the detail of the drawings were so realistic that waves of arousal pulsed through you like wild adrenaline, your fingers tracing the drawings as you continued to register what he’d been drawing the past week, particularly today’s drawing.  He lowers his headphones slowly as your eyes search his for answers.</p><p>He opened and closed his mouth several times, failing to articulate anything as his eyes looked around, a darkness spreading over his features.  He was suddenly standing, the chair flying backwards into the wall at the force of his movement.  His fists were balled by his sides, his face towering only inches above yours, his nostrils flared.  He turned abruptly, grabbing his sketchbook as he stormed out of the living area.  </p><p>—–</p><p>An emotional exhaustion overcame you as you walked to your room from your daily therapy session, the stranger delving into the inner workings of your imbalanced mind mixed with the heady cocktail of antipsychotic medications made you perpetually drowsy and numb.  You longed to climb into your bed, to fall into a drug-induced slumber where you didn’t have to interact with the world or your own problems.  You leaned on the door as you closed it, your head resting against it as before you fell into your bed, startled by the strange texture against your body.  Rolling over, you found a piece of paper folded underneath you, the shadow of a drawing evident from the other side.  Opening the paper, you were met with one of Richard’s pornographic drawings of you, one that you hadn’t seen yet.  He was going down on you from behind with your arms and legs hogtied, an inscription written at the bottom. “When I sleep, I wreck your cunt.”</p><p>Without thought or hesitation, your legs carried you briskly down the hallway toward the living area, your eyes scanning the room, desperate for him, the scandalous picture burning in your grip, your heart pounding within your ribcage as you searched from living area to living area.  </p><p>You ran past the distracted nurse that guarded the male ward, females required an escort to walk the halls and visit a male patient in his room.  Names appeared on doors, and you panicked, hopeful that there was only Richard.  </p><p>Only one Richard took up residency in your mind, and you needed to find him.</p><p>You halted at the end of the hallway, finally finding a door that sported his name.  Taking several deep, calming breaths, you knocked on the wood, switching your gaze between his door and the end of the hallway, hopeful the hallway would remain empty and you would go unnoticed.  Your knuckled tapped against the door harder, with no answer.  On a whim, you tested the door handle, twisting the knob to see if it was open.  You held your breath as the latch gave, the heavy door opening.  You entered quickly, closing the door as soon as you could, turning to see if Richard was in the room.  </p><p>He was lying on his bed, his head pressed back into his pillows, recognizable rock music flowing from his headphones as he rolled his pleasure-laden face lazily from side to side.  His chest was heaving, his gray tank top doing little to hide the flush of his skin from the strenuous activity that was unfolding in front of you.  His lower half was devoid of clothing, his hand languidly pumping up and down his impressive cock, flushed with arousal as the other hand gripped his sketchbook, his fingers digging into one of the drawings of you.  </p><p>Your jaw dropped, your own hands itching to touch him and yourself as you gawked indecently at him, interloping in his private moment that you were desperate to be a part of.  A throaty groan slipped form his lips, and you realize you, like so many others, had never heard his voice, the salacious sound drawing you toward his bed like a cobra flute.  You scolded yourself as your foot accidentally hit the bed frame, the minuscule bump alerting him that he was no longer alone.  His hand stilled as his eyes snapped open, changing quickly from surprise to rage, burning holes into you before you were being pushed back into the wall, his headphones flying, his hands squeezing the life from your neck.</p><p>“Richard…”  Your asphyxiated voice and gentle squeezes on his forearms loosened his grip, his features immediately apologetic as he recognized you.  Despite being momentarily strangled, you didn’t feel fear.  His sweaty forehead, flushed face, and swollen bottom lip heated you, your body melting between him and the cold wall, filling your veins with wantonness, giving you the lewd courage to wrap your fingers around his hardness.  You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you as his hands tightened around your neck, his eyes fluttering closed as you slowly jerked him off, your other hand fighting your jeans button for entry.  </p><p>As if reading your mind, he snaked one hand down your jeans, his fingers sliding into your clit with ease, an almost soundless “fuck” falling from his lips as his mouth crashed into yours with a frenzy that made you moan into him.  His tongue caressed yours in a way that made your knees weak, the combination of his harsh hands and soft tongue driving you wild. You wondered how it would feel nestled between your folds, his hands digging into your thighs like they were in your neck.  </p><p>His fingers swirled circles around your clit, one of his legs parting yours as he plunged two fingers into you, the heel of his hand continuing on your sensitive spot, moving in opposite directions.  Your rhythm on his cock matched his inside you, and the kiss is momentarily broken while you both watch the other work, his cock twitching in your hand as you squeeze around his fingers.  </p><p>Your mouth waters for him, the sketch of you choking on his cock had you falling to your knees, wasting no time as you took his entire length into your mouth and throat, dying to taste him.  The salty sweetness of him sent bolts of heat straight through you, groaning against him as his fingers weaved through your messy ponytail, holding your head against the wall exactly where he wanted you, setting a quick, luscious pace.  His face fell with heady pleasure, his eyes only leaving yours to see your hand snake into your pants, the wetness within make a rude squelching noise as you fucked yourself.  His grunts and your choked mewls made you dizzy for him, the warm, coiled feeling deep within starting to tighten.  Your fingers enclosed over his balls, tugging on them gently as you took him down your throat.  The animalistic groan that left him almost made you cum on the spot.</p><p>He ripped himself out of your mouth, his cock dangling as he pulled you up, tossing you onto his bed, your back against his sketchbook as he ripped your jeans and underwear away in one move before pushing your shirt and bra up around your neck.  Your skin burned form where his nails scratched you, and you silently hoped they wouldn’t be the only marks you’d leave his room with.  </p><p>He spread your legs with a force you thought would dislocate your hips, his eyes dancing over your most intimate area as if he was looking at a piece of art, committing this part of you to memory to use in future sketches.  He leaned in, his nose ghosting over your lips as he inhaled, his fingers digging into you as a hum of approval left him.  He wasted no time dragging his tongue up your slit and around your clit, sucking with vigor as you immediately writhed beneath him.</p><p>You couldn’t bear to watch the display happening between your legs, the visual of him eating you like a starving man was enough to make you cum on his beautiful, melancholic face.  His hot breath against you stoked your fire for him, his unseemly strength pushing you apart for him as he sucked you, his head moved in ways that you swore looked like he was ripping meat off of bones.  </p><p>He owned you in his dreams, he owned you in his sketchbook, and he certainly owned you in this moment as he ripped you apart at your seams.</p><p>His fingers found their way inside you, a rapid pace starting immediately, the wet sounds of his saliva and your arousal filled the room.  You howled as his thumb smashed against your clit, his fingers mashing your g-spot simultaneously, his free hand covering your mouth to silence you.  Your body was alive with feeling, your nerves raw with arousing overuse, no longer limp from medications.  Your teeth dug into his palm as you felt the telltale warning of impending orgasm, your nails digging into his skin as you readied yourself for the fall.  His tongue flicked against your hard, touch-starved nipple, sending you straight into the abyss.</p><p>Your teeth dug into his hand as drove his cock into you mid-orgasm, the fulling of him pressing against you overly-used g-spot making you see stars as the taste of iron filled your mouth.  He growled into your ear as he seated himself into you, slowly removing himself at an agonizingly slow pace before snapping his hips into you again, driving the two of you along his quilt.  You pulled at his gray tank top, tossing it on the floor to feel his body against yours as he pummeled you into the mattress, the power of each thrust growing in momentum.  His free hand wrapped around your throat again as he repositioned, you throat providing leverage as he slammed into you, the grip getting tighter and tighter with each thrust.</p><p>The mattress protested as it squeaked, the bed frame moving inch by inch along the floor.  The intensity of his face mixed with the sounds of sex made you flutter against him, each flutter earning a harder squeeze around your neck.  The limited oxygen forced blood back to your groin, your fingers between your body and his as you rubbed yourself furiously, knowing you’d soon crumble for a second time.  </p><p>He removed his hand from your mouth as you started to cum again, replacing it with his lips, his tongue diving into you as he caught your obscene strangled moans, drinking you in as you bucked underneath him.<br/>
He pulled himself out of you, pumping himself over your body as he prepared for his own release.  You leaned on your elbow, spreading your legs wide for him again, dipping your fingers in and out of yourself lazily before bringing them to your lips, sucking yourself off of them.  His face hardened as he watched, enjoying your show for him as you snaked them back down past your core, to the other intimate part of you, your fingers circling the rim.</p><p>He pushed your arm back on the bed, his fisting of his length now sloppy, his breathing loud as ropes of cum shot out of him, landing on your lower stomach, the animalistic sounds emanating from him making you clench yourself together, wanting nothing more in the world but him.  </p><p>You shifted uncomfortably on his bed as he walked away from you, and you wondered if you should leave as he riffled through his dresser drawer.  You stood, looking for something to clean yourself up with before he returned, guiding you back onto his bed, pulling his sketchbook out from underneath you.</p><p>“Don’t move.”  His voice was like music to your ears, having spoken to you for the first time since your arrival.</p><p>You resumed your previous position as he sat at the foot of the bed, turning to a new page, his eyes sweeping over you as his pencil began scrapping against the page, the corner of his lip turning into a smile as his eyes met yours.  You blushed wildly as you realized he was drawing you after he fucked you senseless, and you hoped he’d give you this picture as well.</p><p>—–</p><p>You hadn’t seen Richard after that afternoon, an orderly barging through his door midway through his sketch.  You’d both been reprimanded, and you knew you’d likely never see him again.  You still scanned the living area for him, your eyes jumping from your book whenever a male patient entered the room, only to be disappointed when it wasn’t him.</p><p>You found The House of Mirth within the stacks of the bookshelf, opening to the last dog ear you created to keep your place.  A folded piece of paper fell into your lap, lead-covered fingerprints littering the paper.  You smiled as you unfolded the paper, your cheeks giving you away as you gazed upon another risqué picture of yourself, this one new - you fucked against an easel from behind, your face covered in paint with a familiar pair of hands encircling your throat.  You bit your lip as you read the lettering at the bottom of the page.</p><p>“Skip your meds.  Meet me in the art room at midnight.”</p>
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